


Such As It Ends

by musingsofmice



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Rey (Star Wars), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Ben Solo is Not Nice, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, He's also kind of a mess, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Ben Solo, my first reylo fic wow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26121001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musingsofmice/pseuds/musingsofmice
Summary: Ben Solo is an Omega lawyer with a grudge against Alphas, who hasn’t spoken to his family in years. When his parents die in a car accident,  he inherits his late father's garage -- and Rey, the Alpha mechanic that his parents took in a year before their death.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	Such As It Ends

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by MalevolentReverie. That's probably pretty obvious. I hope I do the concept of a dominant Omega justice. Title - Such As It Ends, by Ludo.

When Ben gets the call that his parents are dead, taken out in one fell swoop in the same car accident (dead before they even made it to the hospital, he'll find out later), it's a few days after the anniversary of the last time he'd seen them. It had been just over five years since that last night, when he'd stormed out of the house as his father shouted after him to not bother coming back, the night his mother had told him that he was selling his soul and he'd regret it someday.

It's never been an anniversary he's celebrated. 

And for five years, he's told himself that he's made the right decision. He had to do it, he had to leave and he had to devote himself to the First Order, the only firm willing to take a chance on an aberrant Omega fresh out of law school. Snoke saw something in him, something his parents had never seen or understood; Ben's drive to be more than his designation.

They hadn’t gotten in touch after he'd walked out on them. No letters, no emails, no phone calls, with one notable exception -- a call every year, on his birthday. But he'd never picked up, and they'd never left a voicemail. And now it's too late to ever pick up. The grief nearly swallows him whole, that first night after he learns they're dead. He's drowning in regrets and in whiskey, and he can't breathe, he can't think -- he's spiraling, and he puts a hole in the wall that same night, knuckles torn open when he goes into work the next day.

There's more, of course. There's always more. He finds out in the same call that they've left him everything. The house, the garage, what little money they had in their savings. (It's less than he makes in a year.) He's surprised by it, though he shouldn't be. Who else is left, after all? Luke's dead, too, which makes Ben the last of them. And the line ends with him, thank fucking god. No more Skywalkers or Solos or Organas, no more legacies. He's tempted, on the first day after the call, feeling oddly numb, to just ignore it all. Go back to work and pretend his family wasn't dead, pretend that poisonous guilt and regret aren't eating him up alive. 

Instead. He ends up taking time off work for the first time in years, much to Snoke's less than subtle displeasure, but the old man begrudgingly signs off on it in the end. "I expect you back here with a clear head." His boss warns before Ben leaves, gnarled hands clasped together as he eyes Ben from behind his desk, sun glinting off a gaudy, golden tie. And Ben nods, because he's never said no to Snoke in the past. He's not going to start now.

By the next morning, he's on a flight back to his hometown. He hates flying, really fucking hates it. And the reason he's flying makes this trip even worse; his knuckles are white as they grip the armrest.

When he finally lands in Chandrila, it's a sunny, beautiful day. His first stop after leaving the airport is the house. The same house he grew up in. The front lawn is brown and dying, left neglected as his parents are buried, and he makes his way up the front walk. When he opens the door, he's swamped by memories. That last fight, and every day before it. Every miserable day he'd spent in this house, longing to get out, as the gaping chasm between his parents and himself had only widened further. His presenting as an Omega hadn't helped. It'd been clear from the beginning that everybody had expected too large, too angry Ben Solo to present as an Alpha, and nobody had known how to handle it when he hadn't. Least of all himself. 

Maybe that was really when it had all started falling apart. 

He doesn't go further than the living room once he's inside, only stays long enough to drop his suitcase next to the couch before he's leaving again. He wants to check out the garage and see what kind of shape it's in, before he contacts the lawyer to put it all up for sale. Though at this point, he doesn't really care if he makes or loses money on the sale. He just wants to wash his hands of the past, and let it finally die, along with his parents.

His expensive rental purrs to a stop on the curb, the kind of car that Han would have been itching to dive into the guts of. The door slams behind as he climbs out, and hooks his sunglasses over the collar of his shirt. Already, he's garnered a few stares. He can practically hear the whispers, murmured behind his back as he heads down the sidewalk.

_ Is that Ben Solo? Han and Leia's Ben?  _

_ The Omega kid.  _

_ Didn't even go to the funeral, what is he doing here now? _

His posture is stiff as he marches down towards the garage, puffing on a cigarette as he goes, the rush from the nicotine not doing a damn thing to soothe his nerves. God, he fucking hates it here, in this small town, and he can't wait to get the hell out of here. Still, he stops outside the garage for a moment and stares up at the familiar exterior. 

The cigarette flutters from his hand and to the sidewalk; the heel of his two hundred dollar shoes grind against it and pulverize it into ash, before he strides inside the garage.

The door isn't locked, which in hindsight should have been his first clue. But nobody locked their doors in Chandrila -- it's that kind of town, where everybody thinks they can trust their neighbor. The house hadn't been locked, either, after all.

Nothing's changed in here, either, he realizes as he looks around. He half expects his father to come barreling out of the office any moment, and fuck, that hurts far more than it should. The scent of oil and grease hangs heavy in the air as the door shuts heavily behind him, and there's something else, too, a sweeter scent that catches in the back of his throat, riling up his instincts.

There's a car, in one corner of the garage. And a woman is bent over it, her back to him. Pert ass up in the car, and come on, she can't not know what she's doing as she bends a little more, wrenching at something inside the car. Not just any car, though. The Falcon. The bane of his existence, as he'd less than fondly thought of it at one point, because what child likes competing with a fucking car for their father's affection? But that's not the worst of it. 

She's an Alpha, he realizes abruptly. She's the mystery scent, who's got his gland itching and his nostrils flaring.

And that -- that shouldn't be happening. He's on the strongest fucking suppressants available on the market, and he's been on them for years. He hasn't had a heat since he first presented at fifteen, and he's never smelled an Alpha that's had this kind of effect on him. 

She has to go.

He clears his throat as he steps toward her and she jolts, her shoulders stiffening before she turns to face him. 

She's small, it’s the first thing he noticed about her. About as far from the stereotypical Alpha as he was from the stereotypical Omega. Her hair in three messy buns running down the back of her head, a few wisps having escaped and clinging to her neck, and dressed in a pair of coveralls far too big for her, baggy in the legs and sleeves tied around her waist, showing off a tight white tank top and small tits. No bra, he can't help but notice, his gaze dipping briefly to the shadow of areola beneath the thin fabric.

"We're closed." She snaps at him, and his gaze skims back up to her face. "Are we?" He arches a brow as he asks it, stepping towards her. He feels a flash of satisfaction when she steps right  back, her grip tightening around the wrench in her hand. 

"We're closed." She repeats, and this time there's a harder edge to her voice as her small pointed chin jerks up, all less than subtle Alpha posturing. She's scented him, then, he can tell it by the way she's looking at him, all scorn. Because what kind of Omega is he, really, looking the way he does? "You can come back tomorrow." Or not at all, as her expression clearly implies she'd prefer. "So-"

"I'm Ben Solo." He cuts her off to introduce himself. He doesn't offer her his hand. "This is my property you're on." Her eyes widen, and she stares at him for a moment in response as her face pales, little hands clenched into fists at her side. Ah, there's that Alpha aggression that he'd been expecting from the beginning; he half expects her to launch herself at him for a moment there, until she swallows, making a visible effort to calm herself. "You don't come home for five years, and now they're dead," Her lower lip is trembling now, and he watches it with some fascination, not really hearing what she's saying anymore.

She loved them, he thinks, and the realization feels distant, like it's not quite his own. Something rushes in his ears. His blood, his heart. The words she keeps spitting out at him. And he hates her, right then, almost as much he hates himself.

He's never seen an Alpha cry. It's more than a little fucked up that the sight has his cock twitching in his jeans. She's still talking, he realizes belatedly, but the words are running together as her voice raises. Alpha's upset, that weak little voice in the back of his head whines, and he tamps down on it as brutally as he can, ignoring his instincts like he has for years. "You didn't even come to the funeral!" Like it's some grand revelation, like he'll suddenly repent now that she's reminded him of yet another sin he's committed. "I'm here now." He tells her. "And I'm going to sell the house, and the garage."

It takes a beat for this to sink in, but he can tell when it does. Hurt flashes first on her expression, then anger, and she's all stiff again, tensing up under his dark gaze. She thinks she has a right to this place, doesn't she? That whatever relationship she had with his parents gave her a claim to what they left behind. It's time that she learned otherwise.

"How can I convince you not to sell?" She sounds so meek now, compared to just moments ago. "I don't have much, but I can find a way to pay you for it." Her delicate brows knit together, and she steels herself against him. Her lip isn't trembling anymore. "This is all I have, I was staying with them and working here to pay them back-" So. She's one of their strays. It's all becoming clear now, the more he talks to her. They took her in to replace the Omega son they never wanted. Because there's a quiet strength to her posture, to her words, and she's an Alpha, one who loves cars and getting her hands dirty, who probably talked politics with Leia. All they'd ever hoped for in a child.

He wonders if they’d had a chance to rewrite the will, if they’d known what was coming… if they would have left it all to her, instead. Maybe. He doesn’t really fucking care.

She's desperate. He can smell it on her, a bitter edge to her scent, but it just makes her all that much more appealing. "This is all you have, and it's not even yours." He reminds her, and he takes a cruel kind of glee in repeating her words back to her. "You've been freeloading off my parents, but that's done now." He does wonder, though, just how desperate she is, what she's willing to offer. "Are you going to offer to be my Alpha, maybe?" She wouldn't be the first to think he's just waiting for the right Alpha to come along and force him into submission, and he won't. He won't. "Because I'm not going to let you keep the shop just because you fuck me." A pause. "Maybe." He amends, and it's almost true.

He'll pretend it's true.

"I- I-" She swallows, clearly taken aback. "I wasn't going to do that. You're  _ their son, _ " She says, like it should mean something to him. "I wouldn't - I'm not going to offer to fuck you." And it sounds so obscene on those pretty lips, the way she sounds it out, tripping off her tongue as her cheeks flush pink like she's never said anything so filthy in her life. Like she really hadn't considered offering herself to him, until now. "You're their son."

He cocks his head. Makes a show of eyeing her again, all blatant appraisal as he looks her up and down. "I would, though." He says carelessly, as a slow smirk twitches on his lips. "Fuck you, I mean. Right here on the Falcon." Because right now it's far easier to focus on the desire and the anger than anything else. Not the grief or the pain, which threatens to overwhelm him even now.

Her face falls in response. He's not sure if it's because she was expecting it and she's disappointed to find out whatever she's heard about him is true. Or maybe it's because she wasn't, and she doesn't think she can say no. She could. It wouldn't make a difference. She's not going to, though.

"Promise." She says suddenly. "Promise you won't sell." 

He cocks his head, narrows his gaze at her, appraising her as he says it. "I promise." It might be the biggest lie he’s ever told. Maybe the most obvious, too. She can't really be naive enough to believe him, but she isn't backing down. His little Alpha keeps looking at him with those blazing eyes, as she begins to undress.

Maybe she's as bruised and broken as he is, in some way. She loved them, the thought comes again. She's lost and hurt, and angry at the stroke of fate that took them away, and maybe she's furious with him, too, the son who abandoned the parents she adored. 

She strips off her filthy tank top, and tosses it aside, staring up at him with defiant eyes. She's all golden skin. Golden eyes, too, glinting with green. A little too skinny, skin stretched tight over her ribs and the jut of her hip bones, but still so very pretty. He wants to ruin her. He's going to fuck the Alpha that his parents replaced him with and then he's going to leave, and he's going to sell everything.

He doesn't give a shit about what happens to her. She might be a stray his parents took in, but she's not his sister, she's not his anything. She's nothing to him.

The overalls are next, pooling at her feet as she kicks them aside, stepping out of work boots that also look far too big for her. Is everything she owns a hand me down? Until she's standing there in just a pair of socks and worn cotton panties. There's a hole at the crotch, wiry pubic hair poking through. One sock slips down her calf, and he can't help himself now, he closes the distance between them, as she leans back against the hood, the knobs of her knees pressing together, in a futile attempt to hide herself from him. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of her underwear, and it'd be so easy to tear them. He almost does, but the look on her face -- the Omega's pulling at him to submit again, and again he refuses, his irritation flaring again at these fucking instincts he never quite fully suppresses. He peels down her underwear over her freckled thighs, and the scrap of fabric joins the rest of her clothing. She's just in her socks now, and he presses in closer, blatantly invading her personal space.

"You have a name?" It's far too late to be asking it now, and she's thinking the same thing from the way her lips press together, as if suppressing the urge to ask why he even cares. 

"Rey." She spits out finally. It suits her somehow.

She's so fragile, he thinks, as he steps towards her, pressing her back against the cold metal hood. The Falcon creaks a little ominously as he adds his weight to it, grasps at her knees to slide them down, his own heavy knee settling between her thighs to nudge them open. He could break her. The delicate slant of her collarbones as she hunches in on herself under him, the slender curve of her hips. He could split her open.

"Have you ever done this before? Knotted an Omega?" More of those far intimate questions asked far too casually, and she turns pink, not all like the half feral Alpha she'd been earlier. Now she's all flustered and quiet, but her lack of a response, all sulking silence, is as good as an answer. She's never knotted anybody. He doubts she's ever even had sex before, maybe has never known anything but the touch of her own slender fingers against her cunt.

He doesn't bother removing his own clothes, just fumbles with his belt and his fly enough to free himself, until he's springing free, his cock jutting up against his stomach, leaving a smear of slick on the dark fabric of his shirt.

She doesn't have to be ready, because he is. He pumps a hand down his cock, slick dripping from the tip and from the small bumps running up and down the side of it. Thank fuck he's not in heat or he'd be a goddamn mess right about now. He cups her between her thighs anyway, a thick digit running up her slit and parting her labia, so he can explore her cunt. 

His thumb presses down against her clit, and rolls over it in tight circles, until her hips cant up against his hand, her eyes squeezing shut even tighter. Something strangled tears from her throat, and then he thinks -- she's ready, as ready as she'll get. 

"Spread your legs." He murmurs it, and she does, maybe because she wants it. Maybe because she thinks it'll be her salvation somehow, that she can trade her virginity for the house and the garage. But she's so tense, her hands clawing at the hood and her back arching as the blunt head of his cock nudges at her tight entrance. She whimpers when he pushes inside. He's got one hand braced against the Falcon and another on her hip, his fingers digging into her soft skin hard enough to bruise. He wants to mark her. And even when the bruises fade, he knows she'll never forget this.

The first glide inside her wet heat feels like coming home. He's never fucked a female Alpha before. He's slept with all of one Alpha, a male. Somebody else who expected him to submit, and that first heat was a goddamn disaster for it. Other than that, it's only been Betas. Has she ever knotted an Omega before? Has anybody else fucked her sweet little cunt, felt the way it pulls at him and draws him in, her inner walls fluttering with each thrust, as she clamps down around him? Tight enough that it should hurt and it almost does, but the pleasure is just as intense and blinding as the pain.

Her lashes are wet, as she peers up at him through them. He rocks his hips against hers, and the Falcon creaks under them again, a warning he doesn't listen to. There's nothing slow or sweet about the way she loses her virginity, on the hood of a rusting car, with an Omega she's never met before today. And her eyes, bright as they are, are too much for him to take. He pulls out and flips her onto her belly, before grabbing at her hips and hauling them back against him, his cock plunging into her again as she makes the first attempt to scramble away, her fingers clawing desperately at the metal. 

But he's got an iron grip on her as his fingers dig into her tender flesh, her ass nestled up against his hips and groin, and his body curling over hers as he fucks her from behind. She cries out each time he drives into her, and he thinks she might be crying again, not that he can see her. His cock pulses deep inside her as his hips snap against hers again and again, and the sound of it echoes in the garage. His body slapping against hers, each creak of the car beneath them, the way he's moaning and panting, and the way she cries out. 

She's whimpering, and snarling as her hips jerk forward, and so tight and fuck, he's not sure he can take the way her cunt's milking his cock. But she gets impossibly tighter still as her knot locks them into place, milking his cock for all it's worth.

He slumps against her, his forehead pressing against the top of her spine. They're both breathing ragged now. She's quiet as her head lolls to one side, refusing to look at him, her hair hanging in her face and hiding her from his view. They’re both quiet, really, as they wait. He holds her, a heavy arm wrapped under her, around her stomach. He presses his palm to her belly, and  _ fuck _ , he can feel his cock, the littlest bulge there. She hisses, all feral again, but he ignores her. 

And as soon as her knots loosens around him, she's squirming under him, pushing at him. He lets her go willingly enough, his cock slipping free as he steps back, and for a moment it's the perfect view, her pert ass still up in the air. Her cunt's puffy and pink and abused, a trail of white come beginning to drip out of it, but then she collapses against the cool metal surface and turns to face him. She turns her head first, and her eyes are shining again as she stares at him over her shoulder, before she carefully shifts, curling into her herself, her arms wrapping around her knees as she pulls them to her chest.

She's a wreck, panting, freckled cheeks and chest flushed as she reels back against the car, staring at him like she wants to rip his throat out. He wishes that she would. 

"I want you out of the house by morning." He says as he tucks his softening cock away, still smeared sticky with his slick and his come, and her arousal. "Or I'll call the cops." He could call them now, and a part of him seriously contemplates it. She's been trespassing all this time, but he can be generous. To a point. 

“-You promised.” She sounds so goddamn petulant, that he actually  _ laughs _ . It’s low, a little bitter, and the first time he thinks he’s laughed in months. Maybe years.  And, apparently, it’s the worst thing he could have done in that moment as she flies at him, clawing at him like a wild thing, claws raking down his chest, one ragged nail catching on his cheek, tearing it open. It’s a mild sting, but it’s still enough to piss him off.  Maybe the kind thing to do would be to let her let it out, but he doesn’t have the patience, or the energy for it. He just… wants to go home. (But where’s home? Does he even really have one?) Back to his parent’s house, he amends, so he can crawl into bed and sleep.

His hand wraps right under her jaw, around her neck, fingertips digging into her delicate throat. He can feel her swallow hard, under his hand. “Stop.” His command comes out harsh, and she actually does stop, though she’s still glaring up at him, tears in her eyes.

“Go home.” He snaps, as he drops his hand. “Pack your things.” And then he turns, striding away, and leaves her standing there, naked and all alone, in the garage.

**Author's Note:**

> to be continued...... maybe


End file.
